Our first home in Bandung, Indonesia, was on a street called Rancaherang. When I told people where we lived, they would nod knowingly and say, “Ah, mata air dari batu”—the source of water that comes from the rock.
It was a known source of pure water that came from somewhere deep within the earth. Thirst-quenching, garden-drenching water. Always flowing, always abundant.
And there was no water shortage in that whole neighborhood. In fact, it started as a stream in our yard, flowed through a pond on the side of our house and into a stream that ran down to the next house. And on to the next house after that, and so on.
Each yard had a pond of fish and ever-flowing water.
